


Held Fast, Made Safe

by leashy_bebes



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Multi, fairies made them do it, mild restraint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-03
Updated: 2012-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-30 13:20:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/332172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leashy_bebes/pseuds/leashy_bebes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Percival would do anything for his king. No, really. Anything. (Written for the prompt "Percival holds Arthur down while Merlin fucks him" at KMM and originally posted <a href="http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/25900.html?thread=29118508#t29118508">here</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Held Fast, Made Safe

Percival is gathering firewood when it happens. The river, just through the trees to the south, is splashing away merrily and the sound of it almost swallows the sound of Merlin's voice the first couple of times. He's calling for Arthur, but in tones of irritation rather than concern. 

Percival shifts the sticks he has gathered to one arm and follows the sound of Merlin's voice. Merlin looks startled at first, but soon smiles when he realises it's Percival.

"Seen Arthur?" Merlin asks.

"No," Percival says, and while Merlin might not sound concerned, Percival can't help a little prickle of worry. "Is he missing?"

Merlin snorts. "No. Just taking three times as long as necessary to bathe, that's all. He must be around here somewhere."

"There's a sheltered spot on the bank up that way," Percival says, gesturing with his head.

They fall into step without consulting each other, Merlin chattering away easily, like he always does. Before they've gone far Merlin freezes, touching a hand to Percival's arm and whispering, "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Percival whispers back.

Merlin just stands for a moment, head cocked to one side like he's listening intently. "Nothing," he decides. "Never mind."

But Percival doesn't think he's imagining a new tension in Merlin as they walk along. They reach the river in a few minutes and Percival leads Merlin towards the secluded little patch of ground he'd spotted earlier. 

Arthur is there, but he is not bathing. 

It only takes a fraction of a heartbeat for propriety to reassert itself and Percival turns his back hastily. Still though, he doesn't think he will ever forget that sight, so deep does it burn itself into his mind's eye.

Arthur – his _king_ – hunched over a mossy rock, one leg drawn up, water lapping around his other thigh like a tide where his hands are both working feverishly, one out of sight under his body and the other – oh god – all too visible at the shameless spread of his arse, Arthur's strong fingers pressing inside his own body. 

He is the most perfect man that Percival has ever known but to see this. To see _him_ like this. It inverts Percival's world like only the black tide of Cenred's army has done before. It makes him feel dizzy, weak, ashamed. Not on Arthur's behalf, but of _himself_. He feels like a thief, like he has glimpsed something holy, and known in the very moment of seeing that he is unworthy.

"Arthur?" Merlin calls, his voice loud even over the ringing in Percival's ears. Percival's mortification only deepens.

" _Merlin_! Leave him be," he says in a hushed tone, although Arthur must know they're there by now.

"No, Percival – " Merlin tugs at Percival's arm, trying to turn him around. Percival turns his head only enough to look at Merlin, to see the concern on his face. "Percival, _look_."

And Percival, already internally begging forgiveness, does as he is told. This time he sees all the details that secret lust had obscured at first. There are points of light dancing over Arthur's skin, a dozen or more little golden glows tracing over his chest, his throat, and lower where Percival doesn't quite dare to look. And the ringing that Percival thought was in his own ears is in fact everywhere, like singing on the edge of hearing, like the chime of a crystal bell. And Arthur is noising too, a keening, tremulous sound that merges with the eerie chiming sounds in perfect harmony.

"What – "

"Magic," Merlin tells him grimly. "Arthur?" he calls again. "Can you hear me?"

Nothing.

Fearless as ever in defence of his master, Merlin steps forward. As soon as his boots touch the water, the golden lights caressing Arthur's body vanish, the ethereal singing falling silent. The cry Arthur gives then ( _"no, no, pleeaase_ ") sounds so desolate, so broken, that Percival can't help himself. He drops his firewood carelessly and steps forward with Merlin. 

By the time they reach Arthur he is almost crying. He looks up at their presence, his eyes wild and his face flushed, a smudge of mossy green from the boulder across his jaw. He doesn't seem to recognise them until Merlin speaks his name again, sets his hand on Arthur's tense shoulder. Then Arthur moans, blissful and unapologetically carnal. He turns in the water, hands stopping their busy movements for the first time, reaching up and hooking around Merlin's neck.

"Shh," Merlin tells him, apparently unperturbed by Arthur's nakedness, by the press of their bodies and the shameless way Arthur grinds against him. 

"Merlin," Arthur says, his voice edged with a snarl, apparently not happy with the way Merlin's ignoring him, turning to look at Percival.

"Hush, Arthur," Merlin tells him, and Arthur gasps breathily, a flutter of a sigh escaping when Merlin's fingers stroke through his hair. Some of the tension seems to bleed out of him, but the grinding of his hips against Merlin's thigh doesn't stop.

"Water sprites," Merlin tells Percival, apparently unbothered by the way Arthur is mouthing at his throat, pulling hopefully at his clothes, too uncoordinated to do more than drag them askew. "Never seen them do this before, though."

"What do we do?"

Merlin half-shrugs and then shakes Arthur gently by the arm. "Hey. Come to the shore."

" _Yesss_ ," Arthur groans. "Merlin, I was so _close_."

Percival never thought to hear that tone in his king's voice, all lust-dazed and eager. Again, Merlin seems utterly unruffled, either by Arthur's voice or by his increasingly clumsy attempts to get Merlin naked. Maybe it's true, Percival thinks with another rush of guilty arousal, maybe the things Gwaine says, the things he teases Merlin about, maybe they're _true_. Maybe the king's relationship with his servant is... _like that_. The thought makes Percival feel more awed than jealous. 

"Come on, then," Merlin says to Arthur, in a tone Percival associates more with the reprimanding of puppies and very small children than their king. "Up we go. Arthur. _Arthur_. Use your legs."

Arthur whines a refusal into Merlin's neck, pulls Merlin around – more luck than judgement, Percival thinks – and kisses him. Arthur's lips meet Merlin's chin more than his mouth, and it's inelegant and Arthur's obviously half out of his mind, but Percival cannot look away. Arthur's eyelashes are a dark shadow against the high colour in his cheeks. His mouth is wet.

"Mmf – whoa there," Merlin says, turning his head. He gives Percival an exasperated look. "A little help?"

Reasoning that Merlin always seems to know what is best for Arthur, and trying to touch as little of Arthur's naked skin as he can, Percival helps steer Arthur to the shore. Both Percival and Merlin have to fight against Arthur's apparently overwhelming desire for Merlin.

"Is this a spell?" Percival asks, Arthur's groan is like music in his ear. 

"Don't know," Merlin says shortly, pushing his palm into Arthur's face to avert another kiss. "Oh, he is going to be furious about this. I don't know whether it'd be better for him to remember or not."

"Now what?" Percival asks once they've got Arthur to the shore. His constant flurry of muttering and moaning and pleading has taken on a truly distressed edge now.

"Leave him to it, I suppose," Merlin says, but as soon as he wriggles out of Arthur's hold, Arthur draws in a long, hissing breath, the way he does when he's in pain.

Percival actually takes a step closer before he remembers himself. Anyway, Merlin is already there, touching his hand to Arthur's cheek, pushing the hair back from his brow. Arthur settles again, the pain apparently dissolving back into simple arousal, if the shuddering groan and the attempt to suck Merlin's fingers into his mouth are anything to go by.

Merlin sighs and – Percival can hardly believe his eyes – allows Arthur to suckle at two of his fingers while he casually says, "Alright, clearly in no state to be left alone, are you?"

"What, then?" Percival asks, although he thinks he can see the answer in Merlin's eyes. 

"Merlin," Arthur says, his voice muffled by Merlin's fingers for a moment.

"What?" Merlin asks, a bit snappishly. "Why is every magical thing attracted to your thick head anyway?"

"Merlin, it felt so good," Arthur moans, tipping his head back and reaching down to – well, Percival wouldn't know what, because he is resolutely keeping his eyes above their waists.

"What?" Merlin asks, as though he's trying to keep Arthur talking and engage the more rational parts of his mind. "What did?"

"The magic," Arthur says, and Merlin looks uneasy. "It felt so – _so_ – but then it stopped and it _hurt_. Merlin, it hurts. Please. Please, when you – "

Merlin shushes Arthur, cupping a hand around the back of his neck and looking over his shoulder at Percival with panicked eyes. Percival doesn't ask again what they should do. They can't take Arthur back to the camp like this. The fewer people who see him this way the better, for his own personal pride as much as anything else.

"Into the trees a little way. I'll keep watch," Percival says. 

Merlin nods and between them they herd Arthur into the soft shadows beneath the oaks. He's a little more cooperative this time, maybe because Merlin is making low-voiced promises that Percival tries not to hear. ( _We've got you. You're safe. I'll take care of you._ )

Merlin goes to his knees in front of Arthur as soon as they stop walking, and Percival turns his back hastily, walking to the edge of the small clearing and staring out resolutely into the trees. Whatever is between Arthur and Merlin, it deserves more privacy than this. As resolved as he is not to watch, Percival cannot help but hear. He hears only Arthur at first, a tangle of _yes-yes-yes_ and _Merlin, please_. Then, as it goes on, he can hear wet noises that must be Merlin's mouth working the length of Arthur's prick.

As the wet sucking noises increase in frequency and volume, so too do Arthur's responses. Percival hears Merlin shush him breathlessly, hears wet choking sounds that almost make him turn a few times, concerned for Merlin in the face of Arthur's mindless passion. He hears a pained shout of completion and hears Merlin, hoarse and breathless says, "There. Alright? Okay now? Whoa – Arthur – _Arthur!_ "

There is a thump and Percival turns, half expecting Arthur to have slipped in the aftermath of pleasure. Instead though, Arthur is on his back in the dirt, his hand working obvious evidence of fulfilment into his still-heavy cock. By the jagged edge to his groan, Percival surmises that once will not be enough. 

"I'll – " he gestures towards the trees, unsure what he's even suggesting. Leave? Stand guard again while Merlin...finds what works?

"Right." Merlin nods, swallowing hard.

Obviously Arthur is bespelled, but Percival knows without looking that Merlin is aroused too now – eyes darker than usual, cheeks flushed with something more than exertion. And god forgive him, Percival can feel the hard length of his own arousal. It aches even as he tries to ignore it, and he knows Merlin is a lot more observant than he lets on; there's no way he doesn't know about it. The tension feels thick in the air and this time when Percival turns his back he can't help sneaking looks.

He sees in snatched glances that Arthur is fisting his own dick, that his hips working so strongly Merlin is struggling to get spit-slicked fingers into him. He hears Merlin snap out 'hold still, for god's sake', but it's lost under the shuddering rhythm of _please, please, I need it, need it, need it_ from Arthur. Another quick look and Percival sees Arthur draw one leg up, reaching down into the shadowed cleft of his arse and almost kneeing Merlin in the head.

"Ow!" Merlin snaps, pinching Arthur's thigh. "Prat."

Percival turns his face towards the trees and squeezes his eyes shut. Arthur's voice is hot and golden, trailing over every one of Percival's nerves as he says, "Merlin, Merlin, I need – need – something, anything, give it, give, give – "

"I will," Merlin tells him, irritated. "You need to be still."

"I can't, I _caaaan't_ ," Arthur says, pleading. 

Percival swallows and curls his hands into fists at his side. He has never known anything so arousing, never heard sounds that so instantly left him hard and wanting. It would take so little to open his breeches, to shove a hand inside and squeeze himself, a slow drag from base to tip and back again. Despite Arthur's complaints to the contrary though, Percival knows that Merlin is not unobservant, especially where Arthur is concerned. He would know. Besides that, Percival is not sure he could do it. Bring himself off to the sounds of his lord, his _sovereign_ , being prepared for another man's dick.

He is abruptly ripped from his thoughts when Merlin calls out to him. The words are so close to being a cruel joke that he thinks he misheard at first. But no. The words are out of Merlin's mouth now, seeming to float around the small clearing, waiting for Percival's response: "Help me with him will you?"

His feet heavy, Percival turns. Merlin is on his knees between Arthur's splayed legs and has a finger, maybe two inside him. It's no wonder he needs help. Arthur seems to thrash at every touch, but never in a way that makes it look like he wants to escape. Instead he's clawing at Merlin, pulling him closer, off balance, and maybe even...yes, his hand is back between his own legs, tangled with Merlin's, trying to make him move faster or – no, trying to shove a finger in along with Merlin's, that's what he's doing. 

Percival realises he's staring and snaps his eyes up to look at Merlin instead. "I can't," he says, his hands aching where they're fisted at his sides, aching with the strain of _not_ reaching for Arthur, of _not_ grabbing, and clutching, and _taking_ like a greedy child. "Please, I can't."

"Percival!" Merlin's voice is whip-crack sharp, and Percival didn't even know Merlin _could_ sound like that. "You pledged your loyalty, didn't you? So _help_ him."

Percival shakes himself because yes, he did pledge that. In the blink of an eye he could be back there, in a cave with brothers in arms, kneeling to receive knighthoods from a battered, hunted prince. And Percival had promised, had sworn the oaths aloud and silently added on, _anything, anything for you_.

"Tell me what to do," he says to Merlin.

"Just – take his hands for now. Get them out of my way. I just need a minute."

Percival nods and drops to his knees by Arthur. Arthur doesn't appear to notice him, his upper body curled off the ground the better to reach Merlin. In a sharp movement, Percival reaches forward and snatches up Arthur's wrists, pulling his hands out of Merlin's way. Arthur fights him initially, with as much spirit as though they were battling for their lives. Percival has to squeeze much harder than he'd intended to, but it gives Merlin the time he'd asked for. Kneeling as he is, Percival can't help but see Merlin fucking Arthur with two fingers, putting the wiry strength of his whole arm into the movements. 

The timing is astonishing for its precision. After exactly two of those fast, deep thrusts, Arthur's keening protest turns into something altogether different. He stops fighting Percival's hold on him almost completely, sagging towards the ground so abruptly that Percival gets tangled up trying to keep him steady, ends up with one leg folded underneath himself, the other out straight in front, Arthur's head on his thigh. Arthur moans and moves sinuously, managing to move with Merlin's hand at the same time as he grinds the back of his head into Percival's leg, turning to blink slowly up at Percival.

His eyes are their usual dazzling, arresting blue, but glassy with lust or magic or both, somehow instantly as aware as if Arthur was on the battlefield, and as dazed as though he'd tried to out-drink Gwaine again. The combination makes Percival oddly protective and he gentles his hold on Arthur, surprised by the slow smile that unfurls over Arthur's face.

"Good," is all he says, tipping his head further back against Percival's thigh. "Mmmm. More."

Percival can feel his heart pounding inside his ribs, which suddenly feel like very insufficient things to contain such a passion. He looks down just in time to see Merlin spit on his fingers right where they're breaching Arthur's body. Percival wants to close his eyes after that, but Arthur bucks so violently that he has no choice but to keep them open. Eventually he has to press Arthur's arm diagonally across his torso, Percival's own arm bearing down to keep him pinned.

"Ready?" Merlin asks, some indeterminable length of time later.

Percival, unsure if the query was meant for him, just squares his shoulders and tightens his hold on Arthur. For his part, Arthur just lets out another of those eager, half-incoherent sentences. Percival can't help imagining how it might sound if Arthur was in his right mind, the plea in his voice turned back to his usual sharp-edged tone of command. It sends a shuddering lurch of arousal right through him and he deliberately looks only at his hands, concentrates on keeping Arthur still and trying not to bruise him. 

In the time it takes Merlin to shove his breeches down, Arthur's noises are regaining that distressed edge. Before he can wriggle too far, Merlin catches him by the hips and Percival can't help himself, watches Arthur's face closely as Merlin penetrates him. Those dazed blue eyes slide closed, a frown touches his brow, and then he hisses, huffs out a heavy breath and says, "Yesssss," all but drowning out Merlin's low, fevered cursing.

When Merlin starts fucking Arthur properly, Percival can feel it in his body, in the way it jars him, but in the clench of Arthur's fingers inside Percival's fists too, in the thumping tension that rolls through him in waves. 

"Yes," Arthur says again. "Yes, yes, yes. Need it, fuck, yes."

His hair is darkening with sweat now and Percival is only human. Instead of trying to pretend he will be content with glances, he looks, stares, drinks his fill of the sight. Merlin's white hands on Arthur's hip and on the underside of one thigh where he has it bent up and outward, giving him full access to fuck Arthur's arse. Arthur's skin is marked with a warrior's scars but it still manages to look flawless, softly golden where he isn't flushed with arousal. Merlin is fucking Arthur with the same fast, deep rhythm as he'd done with his fingers, and Arthur is making obscene noises with every inward thrust. He's also rolling his head back and forth on Percival's thigh, neck taut and jaw tight, as though he's enjoying the solidity of Percival's muscle.

Arthur's mouth is open, very red inside as he licks his lips, panting breaths drying the skin all over again. Percival bites the inside of his cheek and runs his thumb over Arthur's fingers, startled when he can feel Arthur's mouth pressed to his leg, feel the groan that vibrates through him. Arthur turns his head sharply and Percival feels the wet press of his mouth, a biting, sucking kiss against the inside of Percival's thigh, wetting the material of his breeches.

A wounded noise punches its way out of Percival's throat before he can stop it and Merlin looks up at him. His gaze crawls across the two of them, hesitating where Arthur is held pinned to Percival's lap, mouthing at his thigh, scraping his teeth over Percival's breeches.

"Just – let him," Merlin says through gritted teeth. 

Arthur's right hand is straining downwards and Percival releases it, ready to grab him back if he tries to pull Merlin off-rhythm again. Instead, Arthur wraps his hand around his own cock, muffling a moan into Percival's thigh. With one hand free now, Percival can't help smoothing the hair back from Arthur's face, his skin fever-hot under Percival's palm. 

Arthur opens his eyes and looks up at Percival, and Percival feels like Arthur's truly seeing him, truly aware of his presence for the first time. 

"It's alright," Percival tells him. "It's alright, Arthur."

Arthur gasps, arches. His hand looks painfully tight around his cock, his face screwed up tight as he comes a second time. A hot splash lands on the outside of Percival's wrist where he still has one of Arthur's hands trapped against his own hip. Distantly, Percival can hear Merlin groaning, can see from the corner of his eye that Merlin is hiding his face in his own shoulder, breathing raggedly. But he can't really think about anything other than Arthur's seed on his skin, and the fact that Arthur came with Percival's name on his lips.

He still seems wanting though, his free hand grabbing blindly, curling around Percival's forearm. Arthur's still hard, still writhing in Merlin's hold.

"God, give me a minute!" Merlin bites out.

"Idiot," Arthur says, and Percival doesn't think he's imagining a slightly more lucid look in Arthur's eyes now, the more commanding edge he'd imagined when Arthur tells Merlin, "Again. Need it again."

Merlin makes a slightly maddened noise and catches Percival's eye. For a moment, Percival thinks they're both in danger of laughing from the sheer absurdity of this, but then Merlin drops his head and goes back to his task and Percival can't think about anything other than Arthur. Arthur, who is clutching at Percival, mouthing and sucking at his thigh again. He tugs at Percival's arm, trying to move him to no avail.

"It's alright," Percival says to him again. "It's alright, Merlin will take care of you."

" _Merlin_ ," Arthur says breathlessly. "Can't even take care of – _nnnng_ – of himself."

"Coming from you," Merlin pants out. "I'm not – not that insulted." 

"Shut up, shut up," Arthur says, and then his voice crumples. "God, just _fuck_ me."

"I am," Merlin groans. "I am, you prat, be quiet."

Arthur takes that with better grace than Percival can imagine he would under normal circumstances. With a determined air, he turns his head and sets his mouth to Percival's thigh again, moaning against him. With an all too conversational tone, Arthur says. "I can smell you. I can almost taste you."

Percival tips his head back towards the sky, scraps of darkening blue streaming through the leaves, and every pleasurable touch Percival has ever experienced or imagined is nothing to the strong, determined suck of Arthur's mouth. 

"That – " Merlin says. "Oh god, fuck – "

"No – " Arthur begs hastily. "Don't, don't – "

But it's too late. Merlin's insistent rhythm shudders to a halt, turns into a steady inwards grind that has Arthur jolting in Percival's hold, a sharp nip of his teeth. Arthur whinges a protest as Merlin pulls out of him. Then, so fast Percival has to bite down a protest, he shoves three fingers back inside Arthur's body. There's no protest from Arthur though, just an unsteady, _yes yes yesyesyes_.

This time, when Merlin pushes Arthur over the edge, his mouth back around Arthur's cock, his fingers working slow and deep, Arthur seems to relax. The tension bleeds from his body and he sags against Percival, breath shuddering out, slowing. Percival lets go of him but Arthur doesn't move other than to drape his arm over his eyes and groan, low and long.

"Arthur?" Merlin asks tentatively.

"Shut up, Merlin."

Arthur's voice is scratchy and low, but he sounds absolutely himself.

"Thank fuck for that," Merlin moans, and there's a thud as he allows himself to fall onto his arse in the leaves, a heaving sigh escaping him. "For god's sake. Why is every magical thing in a ten mile radius attracted to your stupid fat head?"

Not just magical things, Percival thinks fleetingly.

"Merlin," Arthur says. "I believe I told you to _shut up_."

Merlin does laugh then, a breathless huff, and he looks over Arthur's head at Percival, rolling his eyes.

"Isn't it good to have him back to his usual self?" Merlin asks, apparently addressing the question to the trees. "Any idea where you left your clothes, your royal sex-fiend?"

Percival remembers seeing them. "By the river," he says. "I'll go."

Merlin nods, Arthur sits up, and Percival scrambles to his feet and turns hastily. He's at the river inside a minute, and Arthur's clothes are right there but he keeps going, walking blindly. He falls to his knees at the river's edge, meaning to wash his hands, his face, dunk his whole body into the cold water, if that would help. 

Instead he finds himself swallowing a moan as he fumbles with the ties on his breeches. _Quickly_ , he promises himself. _Just quickly, and I won't think about it, about them, I won't_. Nonsense, of course. As soon as Percival has his hand on his cock all he can think of is them. Him. _Arthur_ , racked with pleasure and held tight in Percival's grip. Percival presses his thumb against the damp spot on his breeches, where Arthur had licked and sucked and worried at the material and his skin underneath, like he _had_ to have something in his mouth. Pleasure floods him as he comes into his hand, managing to only grunt, heat uncoiling through his whole body. 

And in that instant he hears footsteps behind him and he knows, he _knows_ , even before a familiar hand falls onto his shoulder and squeezes, like a second climax tearing through him from just one touch.

There's a silence before Arthur says, "Thank you for your aid, Sir Percival."

_Anything. Anything for you.  
_


End file.
